


Liquid Merriment

by battybatzgirl



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bottom Enjolras, Couch Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, christmas parties are fun, not really tho, well there kind of is a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Eponine's Christmas party, Courfeyrac manages to get everyone's favorite fearless leader drunk.  All seems fun and games until said leader jumps Grantiare, and has tipsy sexytimes on the couch.  (Not that Grantire is complaining.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Merriment

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the sex scene a really long time ago (like actually a year ago, now that I think of it), and it was just sitting on my computer, waiting to be added into a story. It's Christmas, so what the hell. Have some hot fluff.

For the record, the Christmas party was Eponine’s idea.  Not that Grantaire didn’t enjoy parties (because he did enjoy parties, especially parties where they was booze), but he wasn’t overly fond of _Christmas_ parties.  Everyone seemed too happy or too drunk or too in love.   He could relate with the last two more than anything.

And it sucks even more, because Eponine invited everyone, and this included Enjolras.  Even though he has often stated that he does not enjoy going to parties, he shows up to this one, being tugged through the door by Courfeyrac. 

“Come on, it’s Christmas!” he can hear Courf saying to Enjolras from the barstool in the kitchen.  “Tis the season and all that jazz.  You gotta be merry, and in order for that, you gotta be drunk.”

 “I don’t want to be drunk,” Enjolras says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest, but he steps through the doorway and takes off his red jacket anyway.  “I don’t even want to be here.  I’ve got a position paper to write, and—“

 “No,” says the dark haired man, clapping his hand over Enjolras’ mouth.  “No speaking of stupid papers.  Yes ingesting alcoholic beverages.”

 Enjolras glares at him until he removes his hand.  “Fine, fine,” says Courf, throwing up his hands in defeat.  “I’ll leave you alone.”

 The blonde looks relieved, and they seperate to mingle.  Grantaire is still staring at Enjolras, who is talking to Marius, when Courfeyrac bounds over to the kitchen to get himself a drink.

 “You feeling merry yet?” Grantaire teases, and the brunette smirks as he spikes his glass of Eggnog with a large dose of vodka.

“No,” he admits, “but this ought to do it.”  Courfeyrac takes a swig of the mixture just as Eponine wanders over. 

“So,” she says, addressing Courfeyrac.  “You still trying to get Enjolras drunk?”

“Yep,” confirms Courf, popping the ‘p’ with his lips. 

“It won’t work,” Grantaire says.  “Do you know how many times I have tried?”

 “He has such a stick up his ass,” agrees Eponine. 

 “Stop trying to make me jealous of a piece of wood,” Grantaire mock glares at her.  She playfully nudges him.

 “Oh, ye of little faith,” says Courfeyrac, shaking his head.  “By the end of this night, our fearless leader will not know up from down or right from left.”  He holds up three fingers with his left hand and puts his right hand over his heart.  “This I swear!”

 Eponine rolls her eyes and Grantaire snorts at him.  The brunette looks as if he is going to say something, but something catches his attention and he is instantly gone from their presence.  Grantaire turns around to see where he went to.  Of course; Jehan has just arrived.  Typical Courf.

 The party progresses, and in the next few hours, Grantaire finds himself growing bored.  He loses sight of Enjolras, but is too busy trying to force himself not to care to care.  It’s only after he has refilled his red plastic cup with beer and is leaving the kitchen that he bumps into Enjolras.  Literally. 

“Shit,” says Grantaire, his cup falling to the floor.  “Shit.  Sorry, Apollo.”  He makes a move to go back into the kitchen to clean up the mess, but Enjolras lightly places his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders.  He isn’t holding them or anything, he is just touching.  Grantaire finds this odd, but not as odd as what comes next.

“I was looking for you,” Enjolras says, his words slurred.  Suddenly, before Grantaire can really react, the blonde jumps and wraps his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck.  Grantaire stumbles, and falls back onto the couch, now with an Enjolras-occupied lap.

 “You okay, Apollo?” Grantaire asks, but he knows that something is obviously wrong because Enjolras is straddling him on a couch and is neither yelling at him nor fumbling to get up. 

“’m fine,” Enjolras says, his face now buried in Grantaire’s neck.  “Great.  Actually, pretty awesome.”

Well, now something is _defiantly_ wrong, because Enjolras’ voice has an airy quality to it, his words are slurred, and he never uses the adjective ‘awesome’.  It doesn’t take long for Grantaire to come to the simple conclusion, and he laughs.

“You’re drunk!” he smiles, and Enjolras pulls back just far enough for them to be nose-to-nose.  Yes, Grantaire can see it now; the slight haze in the blonde’s normally striking eyes is a tell-tale sign of intoxication. 

“”M not,” Enjolras says, and he pouts.  He honest to god _pouts_ and Grantaire laughs again.

“Oh my god, Courf actually did it!  He actually got you drunk!  How the hell did he pull it off?  Did he spike your drink or someth—“

The words die in Gantaire’s throat when Enjolras suddenly surges forward and starts placing little wet kisses on the artist’s neck.  He stiffens—the atmosphere has changed drastically. 

 “W-what are you doing?” Grantaire asks, his voice sounding shaky, and he instantly hates it for betraying him.  Enjolras doesn’t reply, and sucks lazily on a spot right over Grantaire’s pulse.  Once he is satisfied, he moves further up the artist’s neck, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. 

Grantaire tries again.  “Apollo, wh— _ah_!”  Enjolras bites down sharply on his neck. 

“You talk too much,” mutters Enjolras in Grantaire’s ear, his breath hot and sweet. 

Grantaire weakly laughs.  “This is coming from the man who does daily speeches to revolutionize the college school board.”

“I speak…for _cause_ ,” the blonde replies slowly, trying to properly form words.  “You…like to hear your own voice.”  He pauses, the pulls back to rest his forehead against Grantaire’s.  “It’s very robust.  ‘Specially when you’re wasted.  ’S annoying, but kinda sexy.”

And before Grantaire can even begin to process what Enjolras has just admitted, the blonde’s lips are suddenly on his, and holy shit, his lips were _so fucking soft_. 

The kiss is clumsy—Enjolras because he’s drunk and probably hasn’t had that much experience, Grantaire because he is still in shock.  Enjolras darts his tongue into Grantaire’s mouth a second before he pulls away to breathe.  Grantaire can already feel blood rushing into both his groin and face, and Enjolras seems to notice because he licks his already swollen lips and Grantaire can’t help but follow the movement.  He balls his hands into fists, forcing himself from grabbing Enjolras’ hips because he probably doesn’t know what he’s doing, being drunk and all.

“You like my voice, too,” Enjolras goes on, his eyes now darkened with something almost ferial as he gazes at Grantaire.  “You think it’s sexy.”  Enjolras looks up at him though long lashes, saying softly, “You think ‘ _m_ sexy.”

And Enjolras is back to sucking on his neck, suddenly grinding his hips into Grantaire’s.  “Am I sexy, R?” the blonde asks, timing it with one of his grinds.  Grantaire almost whimpers because Enjolras is grinding against him in his lap and—

And he is also drunk. 

Well, shit.  Grantaire was about 99.999% sure that a sober Enjolras wouldn’t be caught dead doing this, or _anything_ like this for that matter.  (Hell, Joly and Bossuet have made various bets with Courfeyrac and Feuilly on the topic of whether Enjolras is a virgin or not.  Apparently not, because of the sinful way he’s moving his hips.)  He probably wouldn’t be doing this with him, anyway.  The thought makes Grantaire’s chest tighten, and he wonders if he should push the blonde off him.

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras whines _, he fucking whines_ , apparently still waiting for an answer.  Heat is starting to pool in his lower gut and _shit_ , has Enjolras always smelled this good?

Right.  How does one forms words again?

“Yes,” Grantaire finally says, his voice breathy.  “Yes, you’re sexy— _god_ , Enjolras.”   He throws his head back on the couch because Enjolras grinds even harder that time, and Grantaire can feel their erections rubbing and friction is a wonderful thing.

Enjolras grabs Grantaire’s wrists, which had been awkwardly lying on the couch on either side of them, and pushes them on his hips, making sure his finger tips were under his shirt. 

“Then _touch me_ ,” Enjolras begs, and god, it takes all Grantaire’s self control not to lose it right then and there.  Enjolras’ skin was soft and wherever skin met skin it sent shots of electricity though Grantaire.  The revolutionary arches up into him and makes a high pitched keening noise when his thumb accidently brushes up against a nipple.

Grantaire is practically panting now, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.  Enjolras’ fingers weave themselves into his dark curls and he tugs at them, grinding his hips down again.

_Drunk_ , Grantaire tries to remind himself desperately.  _Enjolras is drunk_.

“Are you as rough as you always say you are?” Enjolras asks in his ear, his breath hot and his voice now huskier than it was before.  “Would you leave bruises on me?  Would you throw me down and fuck me hard until I screamed your name?  Would you tie me to the headboard and have your way with me?  Would you make me beg?”

Grantaire can’t help but moan, because he can imagine each scenario so vividly.  In each one, Enjolras is wearing the same lustful expression not unlike he has on his face right now—half-lidded blue eyes shining, swollen lips begging to be bitten, face flushed a delicious shade of red that trailed down to the rest of his body.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Grantaire hisses into the revolutionary’s neck, biting down to prevent from crying out as the blonde grinds his hips again.  “Fuck, _fuck_ , oh god, _Enjolras_ …” They are both achingly hard at this point, and Enjolras starts to make needy little noises as he speeds up and both are making his pants seem tighter and tighter. 

“W-want…you to…m-make me come…over and…over,” the blonde pants into Grantaire’s neck, grinding in time with his words.  Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’ neck, kissing and biting at the skin, all self-control thrown out the window.  He finds a sensitive spot just below his ear and licks it.  A shudder racks through Enjolras’ body and he moans lowly.  (Grantaire would have to remember that for later.) 

The cynic’s hands are now moving purposefully under Enjolras’ shirt, one hand running up and down his sides while the other plays with his nipples, teasing the soft flesh until they became hard nubs.  Enjolras (who is sensitive here too, he really should start making a list) whimpers and gasps and at the rate they are going neither of them can last much longer—

Enjolras comes first, his body seizing and fingers tightening in Grantaire’s hair as he cried out softly in the artist’s ear.  He shuddered, the tension slowly leaving his body as waves of pleasure racked through his lithe frame.  When he was finished, he slumped down, nuzzling his face into Grantaire’s neck, boneless.

It didn’t take long for Grantaire to come after that.  He vision blurred, and he shut his eyes.  He saw stars, moons, galaxies…His hands curl bruisingly tight around Enjolras’ hips and moaning into his shoulder.  Enjolras peppered his neck with little kisses while he finished.  Grantaire panted, thinking only of how wonderful that just was and it wasn’t even _real_ sex, it was just dry humping on a couch.  If _this_ was better than anything he had ever done with anyone else, what would _actually_ fucking Enjolras be like?

The blonde pulled back far enough to meet Grantaire’s eyes, and damn if he didn’t look wrecked.  Enjolras blinked owlishly at him for a moment before Grantaire pulled him in for a kiss.  Like their previous one, it was messy, but now for entirely different reasons.  Still, it was wet and perfect and it made something in Grantaire’s chest flutter.

“R?” asks Enjolras innocently, as if they just hadn’t had sex with their clothes on on the couch in the middle of a party surrounded by their friends.  Thank god no one has seemed to noticed what just happened.  Otherwise, the second Enjolras sobered, Grantaire would never hear the end of it.

“Yeah?”

“’m feeling very _merry_ now.”  

Grantaire can’t contain the laugh that passes his lips, and he kisses Enjolras again.


End file.
